


with a shuddering gasp.

by bittertofu



Series: thirty-five ways he said 'i love you.' [11]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 19:40:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11042973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittertofu/pseuds/bittertofu
Summary: It would never be enough.





	with a shuddering gasp.

**Author's Note:**

> a series of drabbles.

What was the saying? Old habits?

Akechi would have laughed bitterly if not for Akira fucking him into the wall. Hand wrapped around his erection, pumping with a single-minded intensity.

He didn't have to be close to Akira to sleep with him. Physical needs were only that. Physical.

Akira's moans, low and hot in Akechi's ear, disgusted him. A bit late to regret his actions now, though, what with Akira moving and moving and moving inside of him.

Despite his hatred, Akira's name spilled and spilled out of his mouth in increasingly higher tones.

“Kurusu...Kurusu...ngh!”

“Goro...”

He was utterly lost in the pleasure of it all. Lost, completely, in masochistic self-loathing. He probably deserved this. He probably deserved much, much worse. But if he could detach their physical intimacy from any sort of emotion, then maybe, just maybe, he would survive this.

Without warning, Akira pulled out, spun Akechi around, and pinned him, back to the wall. Akira mashed their mouths together, kissed Akechi greedily, hungrily, hands knotted in his hair. Akechi kissed back with just as much hunger, just as much determination to get his needs across. And it was a need, no doubt about it. He'd become addicted to this, whatever it was they had. Addicted in an aloof sort of way, of course. Of course. It couldn't, wouldn't be anything else.

Akira's hand found Akechi's erection again, and moved over it slower, gentler, with greater tenderness than before. Not good enough. Akechi bucked into him, demanding more. Akira wouldn't give it to him. His kisses turned soft, turned deep and slow, and even after Akechi bit him, Akira only licked lovingly at his lips.

Lovingly. Sickening.

Akechi twisted his hands in Akira's hair and pulled him away, breathing hard.

“Fuck me,” he growled, and Akira grinned.

Akira took both of their erections into his hand and rubbed. Akechi buried his face in Akira's shoulder, gasping at his touch.

“Ah...ah!”

It was hard to form coherent thoughts when the only things running through his mind were _more, more_ and _harder_ , _faster_.

He could have been doing this with anyone, he told himself, even at the height of his wanting. It didn't have to be Akira. It didn't. It didn't. That it was Akira was just an unfortunate play of the cards.

His hands squeezed at Akira's shoulders with every wave of pleasure that shook him. Took the breath out of him. Set his heart pounding in his ears. Akira kissed him again, and again, and Akechi let him.

Old habits, indeed.

Akechi arrived at Leblanc cold and shivering from the rain, wanting just to escape it, really, escape the reporter tracking him around Tokyo and asking questions and questions and questions. He couldn't think of any hiding place other than the small cafe in Yongen-Jaya, a place that had offered him comfort and peace before, and so that's where his feet took him. It wasn't until he was already there, and until he saw Akira, that he remembered why he'd been avoiding it in the first place.

Sojiro was out that day. Bad. There were no other customers. Worse.

Akira was wiping down the counter, and when Akechi walked in he looked up with the demeanor of a puppy whose master had just come home. Naturally, he composed himself from one moment to the next. Grinned and said, “What'll you have?”

“Just a coffee, please,” Akechi answered, muted.

He sat at the counter and waited. Akira poured the coffee right in front of him. Pushed it over and waited for Akechi to take it directly from his hand. Akechi wrapped his fingers around the warm mug and tried to shake the shivering from his core.

Akira frowned.

“You're all wet,” he observed.

Yes, thought Akechi, thank you for pointing out the obvious.

“I didn't think to bring an umbrella today,” Akechi remarked, waved his hand like it was no big deal. “I was...preoccupied.”

That wasn't a lie, exactly. Sae had been getting on him about the case of the Phantom Thieves, insisted he knew more than he let on, which was true, but he wasn't about to tell her that. He'd spent the morning trying to figure out what to tell her instead of the truth, and walked out without checking the day's weather report.

Lo and behold, it had to go and rain. It was a cold rain too, biting to the bone. Lately, it seemed, his luck was doomed to be abysmal.

“You can dry off upstairs, if you need to, borrow some clothes.”

Akechi paused. Stared at Akira with barely disguised distrust. Akira put his hands up defensively.

“I promise I won't watch.”

Akechi knew it was a bad idea. He should have turned and left the moment he saw Akira in Leblanc alone. It wasn't too late.

“...Is Morgana up there?"

Akira shook his head. Akechi's stomach fluttered.

“..Alright. I think I'll take you up on your offer.”

Akira nodded, led Akechi upstairs. Laid out some clothes for him to change into. Handed him a towel.

“I'll be downstairs if you need anything,” said Akira, and then he left.

Akechi undressed slowly, peeling off the wet fabric sticking to his skin. He sneezed, colder than before. He ran the towel over his face first, and then the rest of his body. He paused before moving to put on Akira's clothes. Studied them. It felt strange, thinking he'd be wearing something that belonged to someone he despised. Someone who, for whatever god forsaken reason, made his heart race. His heart raced now just picturing it. Akechi hid his face in the towel, sighed, and sat on the bed.

He must have taken longer than expected, because Akira poked his head up from partway up the stairs.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

Akechi scrambled to cover himself with the towel.

“I'm, um...I'm not quite dressed yet.”

“Need help?”

God, Akechi could just hear the smirk in Akira's voice. Heat crept up his cheeks.

“No. I'll be down in a minute.”

Akira climbed the rest of the stairs and stood before Akechi, regarding him. Eyes roaming up and down. Akechi held the towel tighter against himself and glared.

“You promised you wouldn't look.”

“Guess I lied.”

Akechi had nothing to say to that. Well, it's not like there was anything Akira hadn't seen before, anyway.

“You've been avoiding me,” Akira noted.

Yes, Akechi thought. “No,” he said.

“You're a bad liar.”

 _If only you knew_.

And then Akechi wondered, in a moment of panic, if maybe Akira did know everything after all. No, that was impossible. Why would he keep Akechi so close if he knew? What was his goal? To humiliate him, to bring him to his knees and take everything away from him all over again?

Akechi was so lost in his train of thought, he didn't notice Akira move closer. Didn't notice Akira hovering over him until he pushed Akechi down and loomed over his body on the bed.

“What's wrong?” Akira asked, voice almost a whisper. “What did I do wrong?”

Akechi blustered. Babbled. Said words and words and yet managed to say nothing at all. Akira chuckled, a soft, quiet sound. Akechi felt helpless beneath him, and a little desperate to escape. All Akira did was back off, stand up, move away.

“I can't force you to like me,” Akira said, “but I wish you would.”

Like him? How could Akechi like him? Akira was his antithesis. A fool. Everything he despised about the world. He couldn't very well say that, though. He had to get the upper hand here, somehow.

Akechi sat up, let the towel fall around his waist. He sneezed a second time, and Akira smiled a cocky half smile.

“Better get dressed before you catch a cold.”

Akechi had no idea what compelled him in that moment, but the words that left his lips, sly and sure, were, “Make me.”

Akira sprang. Caught Akechi's face in his hands and kissed him, hard. They were on each other in seconds, Akechi pulling at Akira's clothing, tugging off his shirt, unbuttoning his pants. And then they were against the wall, and then Akira was inside of him, and Akechi gave into it completely.

Akira's hand moved faster. Akechi rolled his hips, bit down onto Akira's shoulder. Akira hissed, but didn't stop his lewd motions. If anything, he pumped harder.

“Goro...Goro...I love you. I love you. I _need_ you.”

Shuddering. Gasping. Those words tumbled out of his mouth.

Akechi clung to him harder than before. A storm rose inside of him, fear and anger and disbelief. Wasn't this exactly what he'd wanted to avoid?

He came with a high moan, sagging into Akira's arms. Akira held him up, continued pumping until he finished, as well. They gripped tight to each other, trembling.

All at once, shame and grief and regret surged up in his throat. He thought he might vomit. Alarmed, Akira guided him to the bed, sat him down. Rubbed a gentle hand on his back.

“Sorry,” Akira murmured, “was I too rough?”

Not rough enough, Akechi thought. Not rough enough to make him forget himself as much as he wanted to.

“It's fine,” Akechi mumbled. “It's all fine.”

He was exhausted, suddenly, and couldn't bring himself to move no matter how much he wanted to. Akira laid him down, snuggled up behind him, wrapped warm, warm arms around his waist.

On nights like this, Akechi might have been curled up alone on the futon in his studio apartment, shaking, shaking, shaking. He couldn't do that here. He could only lie frozen, keenly aware of the rise and fall of Akira's chest against his back, the feel of Akira's breath at the nape of his neck.

Akechi bit hard his bottom lip, forcing back an angry sob. Akira murmured something, but Akechi didn't catch it, didn't care to ask Akira to repeat himself. He just wanted to sleep. Sleep, and to forget.

For the first time in a long, long time, he dreamt of nothing. Nothing.

 


End file.
